It’s not a big deal, really. Like, this is stupid, I know. But you ever just feel… invisible? Like, genuinely, physically not there. My kids just left, both of ‘em off to college, house is quiet enough to hear the dust settle. And it’s not just the quiet, it’s the echo. The echo of everything that was, and now isn’t. My wife, bless her, she’s there, but it’s like we’re two planets in separate orbits, occasionally brushing past each other but never quite colliding anymore. It’s like living with a really polite stranger, you know? You share a bed, you share a history, but the present is just… empty space. So, I went to the gym. Figured, whatever, gotta do something, right? Used to be an athlete, back in the day. Football, track, the whole nine yards. Still got some of that muscle memory, even at 71. Tried to get on the leg press, just a quick set, but these young bucks, man. Just… ignoring you. Like, I’m standing there, waiting my turn, making eye contact – or trying to – and they just… don't see you. They’re flexing, grunting, headphones on, in their own little bubbles of youth and invincibility. It’s like I was just part of the equipment, another piece of metal in the background. And you try to say something, just a polite "Hey, you almost done?" but the words just get swallowed by the bad music thumping through the speakers. Like I’m not even making a sound. And then you realize… this isn’t just about the leg press, is it? It’s about everything. It’s about the purpose that went out the door with the kids’ last suitcase. It’s about realizing the person you were, the person you *thought* you still were, doesn’t exist anymore, or at least no one sees him. It’s this hollow ache in your gut, and you wonder, is this just… it? Is this the slow fade? The becoming-invisible? And what do you do with that, when the world just keeps on spinning and you’re just… standing there, forgotten, waiting for a turn that never comes. Merde.